159. Freshman Class of Old Age.

159.


MY DAUGHTER

Languishing on her end of one of our daily phone chats,
she tells me she's in the Freshman Class of Old Age.
I laugh.
That's not the answer she's looking for.

OK, so at 46, maybe there's the barest glimmer of a beginning,
but when I look at her, I see gorgeous smooth skin, clear eyes,
beautiful posture, her smile spectacular.

I note from my exalted position as a mother and "knower of everything,"
commentator on all that piques my curiosity and pitters my patter,
if this is what it looks like, add me to the list.



*comments welcome